eternity tonight
by cupid-painted-blind
Summary: [Ginny. Oneshot. Dark. Rating for situation and mild cursing.] But she knows she saw him standing there.


_Those of you hoping for another _How to Write a Harry Potter Fanfiction _should turn away right now. This is not humor. I have a half-written humor fic coming if it'll ever get done, so jes' hold yer horses.  
_

**eternity tonight

* * *

**_we'll crucify the insincere tonight,  
we'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight,  
we'll find a way to offer up the night, tonight,  
the indescribable moments of your life, tonight,  
believe in me, as i believe in you, tonight… tonight._  
-tonight, tonight-smashing pumpkins-

* * *

It's going to rain.

The sky is a threatening black (_it has been for a while now_), and she can hear the thunder rumbling, but can't see the lightning (_it's no less dangerous, they used to say, even if you can't see it_). The wind whips at her hair (_he liked it longer, so she cut it_) and pulls tears out of her eyes, but she won't go inside (_not going to be fretted over_) and she won't turn and face the other way (_don't want to see what's behind_), so she stares into the wind and lets it thrash her (_nothing new anyway_).

And then the rain starts, great, heavy drops that land hard on her outstretched arms (_and the cleansing hurts, but isn't it supposed to?_) cold and icy and she realizes that it's not rain at all, but sleet, and sleet means it's cold (_but she's been out so long she can hardly tell anymore_) and she knows that's not a good thing – she's supposed to feel the cold (_but it's so much easier being numb_). And she laughs at the idea of being a scared little child and running away from all the pain, but there's nothing funny about it and her laughter runs sour before it's through. But she doesn't want to go inside and feel the hurt of healing (_she'd rather stay numb and half-dead_) because he hated to be forgotten like that and she doesn't want to forget and leave him for the dogs.

He died in the rain (_don't think about it_).

It was hot that day (_and sticky and uncomfortable_), unbearably hot, and he'd stood still in the before-rain and made some stupid, irreverent, irrelevant joke that he knew she wouldn't laugh at (_she'd given a weak chuckle anyway_). And then the rain started and he mentioned that he'd always wanted to die in the rain (_and let it wash me away_), and he had – he'd lost – just like that – and before she knew it, he was gone and she was left standing still in the rain (_laughing at a joke that wasn't even funny_). And she saw him from a distance, faltering and failing and falling and she'd wanted to be washed away just like he'd said he wanted to be.

(_don't think about it_).

The rain is icy cold (_she hasn't seen the sun since the day before it happened_) and it's been falling on bare arms. Her fingers look a bit blue from here, and she realizes that she's only been out for a minute or two (_feels like forever_). And that seems a crueler thing to do to her, making her lose track of time (_it's not the first time she's lost all sense of it_), making her think it's been so long when it's only been

months.

Months, it's been months, because it doesn't sleet until at least October (_and he died in May_). May to October and she wants it to be April again. But it could have been longer because she hasn't looked at the calendar because she doesn't go down when everyone's there because she doesn't want their pity. And she doesn't know what today is (_Monday or yesterday or tomorrow_) because it's all rolling into one with sleet and ice and cold and they don't even say his name anymore and goddammit, don't you realize he would have hated that?

But they don't even try to think about what he would have hated (_her short hair, the way they forget him, the sleet and the cold and the slick sidewalks full of mud_) because he's gone and he can't hate it anymore, so they do it to remember him by. And she doesn't think they see the irony in forgetting someone so you can better remember them (_it isn't really ironic, it's just sad_) but she doesn't tell them because they don't want to hear it (_they don't want to break_) and they don't realize they're shattering as they run.

Seconds pass like years and she can feel

every

little

raindrop

on her arms and in her hair and she half-expects that she's going to die of hypothermia and then she laughs because she feels so strangely alive right now (_even though she's been dead for so long_) and the thought of it seems so funny (_not that dying ever was_) and he would have wanted her to die laughing if she had to go.

And she can feel it, the beat, the tangible moment of truth, and she knows she knows something has changed irrevocably even though she can't even begin to fathom what (_she wants to hear his voice_). But the moment passes and her mother comes out, fussing why are you standing out here in the rain, and, goodness, Ginevra, it's freezing cold why don't you come inside? And before she can stop herself, she's laughing because she could swear she saw him standing across the way (_he's grinning like a fool, covered in mud and wet as she is_). But she blinks and he's gone and she's just standing there in the rain, laughing like an idiot while her mother drags her inside.

But she knows she saw him standing there.

(_and he knows he saw her watching_)

--

(**A/N: Hoo boy. Blame it on the mint chocolate cookies. I hope you can guess the pairing – it almost turned into a "pick a character, any character" thing, but I changed that. And it's not tragedy. I have stopped just short of full-out cry-thine-eyes-out-oh-dear-I-can't-believe-they're-gone tragedy. But just barely. Please review.)**


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